


A Real Life Plan

by winterover



Series: The Cracky Reproductive Adventures of Gaila and Bones [1]
Category: Star Trek Reboot
Genre: Babies, Drunken Confessions, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterover/pseuds/winterover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy wants a baby. Gaila wants a baby. McCoy and Gaila should have a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Real Life Plan

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=st_xi_kink_meme)[**st_xi_kink_meme**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=st_xi_kink_meme) prompt [Drunken baby-making pact between Gaila and Bones.](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/11004.html?thread=10327804#t10327804) Hopefully the first in a series tentatively titled ~The Cracky Reproductive Adventures of Gaila and Bones, with Commentary and Helpful Input from James T. Kirk.~

Gaila can consume a multitude of different alcoholic beverages that have little to no physiological effect on her. The particular chemistry of this 'Kentucky Bourbon' she's joined McCoy in drinking tonight, however, is doing _really_ strange things to her head, like a good strong Orion wine would - the feeling of warm prickles rising up into her brain, a tingling heat washing out into the very tips of her fingers and toes.

She giggles a little and nuzzles into McCoy's shoulder. "I like it. It tastes strange, though."

McCoy shrugs and finishes his glass, leaning back and tipping the last drops down his throat. The movement jostles her whole upper body. "You learn t'ppreciate it." His voice is slurred, some of his vowels almost twice as long as they should be, which is an obvious sign of inebriation. Gaila's been drinking with Jim and McCoy and other Terran cadets enough times to know that. Jim isn't here yet, though, which is a shame, because she knows he thinks it's extremely funny when McCoy goes 'all southern', as he tends to phrase it. At these times, he likes to encourage McCoy to rant by saying shocking things, like _grits with cheese are gross, maple syrup is so much better_ and _You're supposed to tilt your head back when you have a nosebleed, right?_ "More?"

"Yes, please," says Gaila, and he takes the bottle off the bedside table and tips some more of the amber liquid into her glass. It splashes a bit and runs down her wrist, and she licks it off so none of it goes to waste. This act, innocent and commonplace to her and yet so sexual to so many of those she meets, would usually be enough to discombobulate a human male completely, particularly one already sitting close to her on a bed. But McCoy's eyes have little troubled lines around them, and although he's drunk, he doesn't seem happy.

Not all humans drink for a particular _reason_ , but _he_ normally does. He drinks more when he's upset or frustrated. And since Jim isn't here yet, it's up to Gaila to get to the root of the issue. She curls her legs under her and twines her arms around his neck. "McCoy," she says ingratiatingly. "Tell me your problems."

He side-eyes her warily. "What makes you think I got problems?"

She points to the two-thirds-empty bottle. "Your impressively steady rate of alcohol consumption?"

"Oh." He's quiet, running a finger around the rim of his glass - her ears pick up a faint humming sound being produced, like wind - and his hair falls nearly over his eyes, he's ducking his head so low. "'M'okay. It's fine."

"No, no. Something's bothering you, isn't it. You can tell me."

He looks sideways at her again, gaze a little glassy. "Well...y'won't tell Jim, you promise? Don't want him worryin' about me."

She gives him her most serious look. "You have my word."

"Well..." He purses his lips. "Today's my wedding anniversary. 'Cept I'm divorced. Obviously."

"I'm sorry," says Gaila sympathetically, patting his denim-clad leg. "Are you missing the one you were married to?"

McCoy hesitates. "Well, it's not so much that. Just...it's eight years and we always kinda thought we'd have _kids_ by the time we'd been married that long. But we never did." He sighs. "Stupid. Through with missin' her and now I've moved on to somethin' I never had. We were both too busy. Woulda been better...maybe we would never've split up. Always wanted to have a kid one day."

Gaila's chest aches for him. Dreams of her future have always included having children - especially since she'd left Orion and come here, a safer place, where any child she might have wouldn't inevitably become tangled in the shadowy sexual politics of her native society. She understands his want. He's the kind of man who _should_ be a father, McCoy - stern but secretly affectionate, smart and respected, and medically trained, so he could heal all the little injuries children inevitably get falling off things, playing with knives and fire, eating foreign objects and swallowing chemicals, and so on. And it would be a shame for him to never pass on his exemplary genetic material.

Ooh, she's getting all tingly thinking about baby McCoys. It must be a good thing. Her tingles never lie.

"You should have one, then."

His smile is tolerant, with a slight bitterness to it. "You do know human men can't carry babies, Gaila. No room for 'em in there, much less getting 'em out. And -" He tries to swallow a hiccup, which turns into a cough. "Skeletal stuff. Hormones. Lotsa stuff."

Obviously. She's taken Comparative Humanoid Biology. "So have it some other way. You _need_ one." She sits up straight and pokes McCoy in the chest with a forefinger. " _You_ would be a good father."

He looks wistful. "Y'think?"

"I'm sure. We should make a plan. First part - go and attract a genetically compatible female." In gesticulating emphatically, some of the alcohol sloshes out of her glass and soaks into the standard-issue bedspread. "Agh. Sorry, I'll clean that up."

"But what if she doesn't want kids?" says McCoy morosely, shoulders slumped.

"Then find someone who does want one. Like..." It dawns on her. A brilliant idea. Maybe if she hadn't imbibed so much of that Kentucky Bourbon, the spots would have connected - as Terrans say - sooner. "Like me, for instance."

McCoy's eyes go big. "'Scuse me?"

"Well, I _definitely_ want to reproduce sometime. Why not with you? Would you mind a half-Orion baby?"

A contemplative look comes over him, and Gaila knows they're both thinking of the same thing - a chubby little pale green baby with dark reddish hair and big inquisitive eyes and the most potent charm of all the infants in the nursery. It's an appealing thought, to say the least. "I like all babies," McCoy says after a dreamy interval. "Human and Orion genes...dunno 'bout anyone ever testing it, but the physiology's close enough that it's prob'ly medically sound. I mean, humans 'n' Vulcans have managed it with genetic engineering."

"So? Let's have one! I'll carry her and you can raise her, since you want to stay on Earth and I want to work in space. And I'll come for visits on leave and bring her presents and feed her sweets until you're shouting at me to go away." She bounces in growing anticipation, as much as the hard standard-issue mattress will allow her to. "I have beautiful ideas sometimes."

He looks happier already, in a wobbly drunk way, but as he takes her free hand in his, he's already questioning it. "What about you? Y'give birth to the kid and then you don't get to keep it with you?"

"Really, McCoy. I wouldn't know how to take care of a baby at _all._ Especially on a ship. But if I come back to Earth and I want another one later on, and I haven't paired with anyone else, you can just impregnate me again. See? And we'll live in houses next to each other with a gate in the fence..."

McCoy nods, swaying a little on the spot, like the bed is a boat. "That sounds nice."

"So?" She's getting excited about this now. It feels like a real _life plan._ Just thinking about it is already stimulating her ovaries and vagina and the nerve endings in her breasts - she can feel it. "You want to? Not now, but later. When we've graduated."

"Later," he says, smiling crookedly. "Thanks, Gaila."

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Should we have sex anyway while we're waiting?" She drains her glass and sits up on her heels expectantly. "I'm finished my Kentucky Bourbon."

"Uh -" His cheeks flush, faintly shiny with alcohol-induced perspiration. "I want to, not gonna lie, but I don't think we should."

Gaila sits back, slightly disappointed. Even inebriated, he's still not as cooperative as Jim is in these matters. "All right."

Speaking of Jim - the door to the room opens just then, and Jim appears with several bags of fragrant takeout food and a grin on his face that only widens when he spots Gaila. "Hey! Hope you're not having fun without me. The party may now commence."

"Hi, Jim," says McCoy, as Jim bustles over, clearing a padd and a pile of odds and ends off his desk to make a spot for the food. "Did you get Chinese?"

"Sure did. And yes, I got you cashew chicken. Just don't try to lick me or anything afterwards if you don't feel like dealing with anaphylaxis tonight." McCoy picks up the bottle of liquor to refill his glass, and Jim's thick eyebrows arch high. "Wow, Bones. Wasn't that practically full yesterday?"

"You the booze police now?" McCoy grunts, brow raised. "C'mere 'n' you can have some."

"Really? I better have the rest of it; you owe me for eating all the brownies."

"I had a six-hour surgery yesterday. I damn well deserved the brownies. 'Sides, I bought you yogurt raisins. Your ass don't need any more chocolate."

"I hate you so much, Bones."

"Jim!" says Gaila jubilantly, unable to hold it in any longer in the face of such irrelevancies as baked goods and fermented dairy products. "Guess what? We're going to have a baby!"

Jim's complexion, previously his usual healthy pale pink, immediately turns a worrying shade of shuttle-bulkhead gray. He drops the six-pack of beer he'd been holding. Fortunately they're cans, not glass bottles, so they don't crack. " _What?_ But - but Gaila, we were careful!" His voice rises to a near-hysterical pitch at the end that rings uncomfortably against her eardrums. "Bones, I swear, I'm not an idiot, we really did -"

Clearly there's some accidental miscommunication going on. She hadn't meant to alarm him. "Oh - I'm sorry. Not you. Me and McCoy!"

McCoy lifts his replenished glass, a mischievous, slightly silly grin on his ruddy face. Jim's mouth opens and closes, like the fish in the aquarium in the bio building, but all that comes out is a sound rather like he is choking.

"You can be her uncle," Gaila decrees. "Uncle Jim. Do you like that? Jim?"

  


*

  
It takes a concentrated effort for Leonard to peel his tongue off the roof of his mouth when he wakes up.

He feels like death. A reheated stew of sweaty gym socks, moldy sandwiches, and death.

Leonard isn't really sure what had happened after the fourth drink or so. He remembers being maudlin, depressed, maybe a tad bit weepy. Embarrassing. Poor Gaila, having to put up with him while they waited for Jim. He does recall her murmuring comfortingly in his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck, talking about...something about babies. How she wanted babies. And them living next door to each other, with a fence, and...

His eyes fly open in shock.

Gaila is curled around him on the bed, one leg thrown over his hips. She's still clothed, thankfully, and so is he, and yes, that's definitely Jim's raspy breathing coming from his side of the room. She's Jim girlfriend - well, not his girlfriend, but whatever she is - so why isn't she over there with him?

As if she can read his mind, Gaila stirs with a squeaky little sigh, burrowing her face against his neck. She's very warm. And she smells nice. Like corn on the cob. "I ovulate twice per solar month," she murmurs.

It takes a minute to process that. "Congratulations."

"Our child is going to be so cute," she says with a yawn. "She'll be the best computer engineer in the fleet."

"Doctor," says Leonard automatically, before stiffening in sudden realization and a flood of remembrance that has the blood rushing to his cheeks. Oh, no. He hadn't made a drunken pact with his best friend's sometime girlfriend to impregnate her after graduation. Had he?

Gaila pats his stomach.

"Very cute."

"Can I name it?" Jim says sleepily, from the other side of the divider.

  


*

  



End file.
